This Dope Sick Love
by Anathesius
Summary: Michelangelo is entering high school along side his brothers after years of homeschooling. Things don't go quite as he planned however, he's struggling to keep his pace up, and his brothers seemingly excel beyond. This entitles his sudden change in attitude, hanging in the wrong crowd, and eventually forming an addiction that even he is unaware of. CHECK OUT THE UPDATE PLEASE!
1. Who am I?

Tremors. Cold, yet scalding hot shakes that wracked through his body like an earthquake, not allowing his being and aching muscles a moment of peace, and hell have it, his mind for that sake. He couldn't stand, nor sit down for too long while his immune system felt like it was constantly under attack, the irregular slow beating of his heart near aching beneath his rib cage, the bitten skin on his knuckles drier than bone, yet his flesh was slick with sweat.

His breathing was reduced to desperate huffs, an attempt to get more air into his lungs that simultaneously felt like bursting at any moment. It was like being sick with a bad cold that was multiplied times ten. Almost a plague like symptoms you could say.

That's what withdrawal does to you, he supposes.

It forces you to feel like you literally need to crawl right out of your own skin, even shed your bone, until nothing remains…

* * *

><p>"Who in the world Am I?"<p>

" Ah, well, that's a great question."

* * *

><p>Migraines.<p>

Piercing, sickening pain that throbbed, maybe in only one part of his head, should heaven have mercy. But typically, there was no merciful presence upon him, now of days. Even so, the thickening irritability that had boiled within his cranium had begun to reduce to a level sting while his meditation deepened.

Yeah, you heard right.

Michelangelo was meditating, cross-legged onto the carpeted floor of his rarely clean room, small candles alight. The whole shebang.

Things had been quite peaceful too, until the loud guffaw of the second eldest had reverberated even beyond the closed door between them. His sitting position slouched in an almost defeated manner as the ache came back full force. Recently, his brothers had played a constant variable within the proverbial bloodied war within Mikey's tattered thoughts. Oh, how ironic that the very embodiment of his love and joy, had been the cause of his internal despair.

Internal, being key word in this strange inner monologue.

High School, however, played the rest. Like a carnivorous plant, right when Michelangelo had been enraptured in it's sweet, deceiving lies, before snapping shut and trapping him in a tightly knitted hell. That wasn't nearly an accurate enough metaphor for what his experience had been so far.

But how he was supposed to sit for seven to eight hours in a **_completely_** unstimulated environment was a question he had come to just accept that would never have a straight answer. He had honestly given up trying, which was something he's sure his father would be ashamed to hear.

"Excuses are tools of the incompetent…" Mikey muttered to himself in mock of his sensei's wise words. A hand dragged sluggishly over his face, pulling the skin down and likely leaving it an angry red when he stopped. Yet the slight twinge in Splinters usually stoic expression when ever he happened to look at the youngest, left a spark of hope that maybe he had begun to notice the negative effects within him. Just maybe, his sensei might ask what was troubling him.

Why was he choosing to wait though? Why couldn't he just walk up to his father and tell him, 'Hey, school sucks, this isn't working for me, I want out'?

Because Michelangelo always chose others happiness before his own. Call it his hamartia, his Achilles heel, whatever so does please you, it all means the same. It was a weakness he would never learn to get over. Something that had burned itself into his _self morals_ and _personal values_ in life.

Just the thought invoked a heavy sigh from him. He should really start learning how to be selfish. If not for the good of others, than for the good of his own well being.

Mikey rose from the rather solid position he had held on the floor, a quick glance at his phone screen telling him he had been there for at most, three hours. 6:20 p.m. it read. Figures. Raph's show always comes on at six. No wonder he was being so loud.

Not that he usually wasn't, anyways. At least, not **cheerfully** so.

That wasn't the point though. He would ultimately have to leave the sweet confines of his sanctum, and face his family, forced to hear about their day during dinner no doubt. Great, right? It should be. Yet the miniscule green of envy couldn't help but to worm its way into his heart every time, much to his dismay. It didn't help that he was the one to ask the question each night either. 'Tis the curse of being the _good child. __**Hah. **__'Good child'_ his ass.

The tiny flickering flames were each put out between the moistened thumb and index finger, not allowing the slightly acrid scent of smoke to waft about. Why did he have such a regrettable feeling about tonight?

Eventually, with heavy steps, he stretched in his own doorway and left his room, wishing he could leave the migraine there as well. Like all problems, however, they don't just dissipate, even with the aid of time.

The lights through out the bedroom hallways were turned off, and at this, Michelangelo could momentarily thank whoever had bothered to do such a kind act. He just hopes he doesn't trip down the stairs though. Passing each closed bedroom on his way, he thoughtlessly made his way downstairs, ignoring the random placement of Donatello's books along his path. Ugh._ Men_.

Yet not even halfway down the steps, and he could already smell the evenings meal being prepared, something he normally would have loved. Now, it just sent a slight wave of nausea through him, causing an uncomfortable shudder down the base of his spine. Mikey paused to push his discomfort down, lacing his fingers through the unruly blond hair atop his head, eyes squeezed shut. Just as he had been taught, he began the spelling of random words that popped into his mind, distracting the ill set feeling in his stomach with hopes of it not rising to his throat.

_S-i-c-k_. He felt sick. He needs to feel calm. _C-a-l-m_.

A grin spread its way across his face.

But right now, he's having a _calamity_. _C-a-l…_

The dumb internal pun was interrupted sadly by one of his older sibling shouting his name from some unknown place in the living room, obviously unaware of his presence on the staircase.

Michelangelo rolled his blue eyes beneath the lids.

"What?!" He shouted back, equally as loud while making his way down the rest of the stairs. Two can play at that game.

No sooner had he yelled back, did the taller pop up right in front of him, directing his gaze upwards. Raphael.

"Why are you yelling?" The redhead questioned with a knowing smirk, arms folded laxly across his chest. He only received a nasty (deserved) look from the youngest before Michelangelo diverted his way around him.

Mikey should have expected the rather forceful tug on the back of his shirt, resulting in him stumbling right into Raph's arm that locked his neck in position, making him bend slightly to prevent . "Oh, come on, you know I'm just kidding." His knuckles mussed the blond locks into even more of an atrocity, the strength going unchecked per usual. While normally he would have laughed, maybe poked the other in the ribs until he ducked away with laughter, the heavy scent of his cologne was beginning to make his head spin and his near-restricted breathing was almost painful The younger pried his head from between Raphael's bicep and forearm with a disgruntled noise, huffing with annoyance once he managed freedom.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" Came his nonchalant response while walking towards their dining room. That familiar heavy arm rested around his freckled shoulders however, pulling Mikey closer to his brother. "Hey now…" Raph attempted, a slightly concerned gaze furrowing his brows, but he still kept his half smirk. "We cool?"

Of course they were cool. Michelangelo was just being touchy for unknown, but valid reasons.

His older brother seemed satisfied with the ease into his grasp and accompanied nod though as they continued on. The sight that greeted them was Donatello placing silverware and porcelain plates onto the clothed table, while Leo carried dishes of food, steam curling invitingly off them.

For now, he would pretend to miss the shared glance between the two eldest.

Their father entered the room not but a few seconds later than they had seated themselves, Michelangelo placed near Leonardo, the others respectively across from them. Splinter relaxed at the head of their table, their thanks said before everything began to be passed around.

An awkward air settled around them as they all ate in silence, Michelangelo ignoring the pointed look from his father while the others stared. Had he been feeling particularly ballsy, he would have just asked 'What'. There was no need for that kind of disrespect, however. Why his siblings felt the need to also stare between the two of them, as if the mood hadn't been thick enough to cut with a knife, escaped him.

"Your teacher's called me, Michelangelo." Their father finally began while said child began slowly rearranging the shape of his peas.

"That's nice." He muttered in return, chin tucked into the palm of his hand, elbow placed onto the table.

The twitch of irritation his features was caught in the peripheral of his gaze pointed at the food, and he almost felt like laughing at the rather astonished looks of his brothers faces. Donnie's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline, and he tensed, like he wanted to advise against speaking to their father with such distaste.

A moment of continued silence passed as Splinter began cutting the meat placed onto his plate. "... Yes, you would think so, if it hadn't been about the poor state of your grades."

Shit. Michelangelo completely forgot about them mentioning that before he left for the day. Not expecting them to go through with it was probably wrong of him. He certainly gave them no reason to resist doing so.

"You're telling me this like it's a surprise or something, father." The fork in his hand clanked noisily against the plate, scraping it with a mildly obstinate manner. Mikey personally hated the sound himself, it sent unpleasant stinging in the back of his head, closest to his ears. It almost resembled his current emotion right now. Pure, unadulterated annoyance.

"This is a surprise." Splinter began, setting his own fork down beside the plate, alongside its matching knife. "You are a very bright child and I know this from experience. There is no reason for your average to be so low. I feel the problem with you, is your stubborn attitude."

Michelangelo did chuckle at that, silverware clattering against his plate. "Even with your perfect vision, you always did have trouble seeing what was right in front of your face." He bitterly snapped, staring down his father's judging gaze. If the room hadn't been completely quiet, then it certainly was now. The slight darkening of his face didn't seem to phase him like it normally would, in any other situation. .

He mumbled a quick 'Excuse me' and pushed away from the table, food untouched. His name was called, but it went unanswered as he retreated back to his room reticently, the door closed behind him.

A thumb hovered over the lock for a long, contemplative moment, before he decided against it.

There would no doubt be later repercussions from his choice of actions, but right now, falling face first into his bed, he paid no heed to what would happen at a later time. Fists balled up into the welcoming sheets and countless covers, only after his shirt was shed, revealing the mass of freckles aligning his shoulders and neck that undoubtedly covered his cheeks as well. Almost as if someone had taken a hand full of the nights stars and thrown them onto his skin, like glitter to a sun-kissed canvas.

Thousands of thoughts flooded through his mind though, once his fair eyelashes brushed the pillow while closing. He could have told them. Everything. About his pain. His struggling through the days with an apathetic mask that frightened even himself.

But he couldn't. Even if he wanted to.

He wouldn't.

Splinter had only been partially right about his 'stubborn attitude'. Hell, he would have hit the nail on the head if he had a slightly more insightive notion.

We all know how that had hurdle had been ignored, however.

* * *

><p>A light and dreamless state had overtaken him before he had realized it.<p>

Yet even so, waking up to the muted sound of his alarm enveloped his actions in a thick sheet of restricting velvet and befuddlement, staring at the blurred blue numbers within the dark room before realizing he was up an hour early.

A cold chill swept over his body, startling him into a stark awareness of how he had forgotten to pull the covers onto himself before actually falling asleep.

If this didn't upset him, then the fact he would have to go back to the hellishly monochromic confines in a few hours certainly made up for it. His groggy state only felt heavier with that in mind.

Rubbing his eyes, he slowly sat up, knowing that if he did it too quickly, the blood would rush to his face, leaving him unbearably stunned for the moment being. The slight ache in his back reminded him of the hours spent in one place seated on his floor. Nothing he couldn't put up with, however.

Unsteady legs draped over the side of his mattress, bare feet grazing the carpet while he regained his bearings. Chills raised the hair along his arms and neck at the warmer possibility of a steaming hot shower, and soon began powering his legs on that ideal alone.

Clean clothes were plucked from his open drawers, tossed onto the marble counters of their shared bathroom sink, the old tossed into the clothes hamper. As much as he resented it, the shower was short and sweet, knowing that if he wanted to prolong the inevitable confrontation of his earlier actions, he would need to leave before anyone was awake. Knowing his father, however, he would already be up, hopefully not downstairs, where the only exit happened to be.

Living in one of the tightly knitted houses, stacked up side by side, left no room for a backyard or a front one for that matter. That was New York, he supposed.

Stepping out the shower, he quickly dried himself off, draping the fluffy towel loosely over his head while tugging his clothes on. Said towel was hung to dry, and he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth.

What he hadn't expected, was to bump face first into the chest of Leonardo, who looked just as surprised as Mikey felt.

Why was he up this early?

Then again, the older was probably questioning that right back at him internally. In a hushed voice, Michelangelo apologized, grinning meekly up at the raven before attempting to make a clever escape.

It proved futile though, when he was pulled back and spun around to face him, leaving the younger dizzy before he could process what had happened.

A hug. It was a tight, warm hug, that somehow felt even better than the shower he had just taken, and it was nothing less than completely and utterly welcomed. His bespeckled arms wrapped around him instinctively, and his head rested onto Leo's right shoulder. He briefly wondered how long it had been, since he had hugged any of them like this…

Before too much emotion could well up though, he pulled away with a glassy gaze, giving him a reassuring smile to the almost worried frown, but Mikey didn't stick around look any longer.

Eventually, he was let go, and left to head downstairs to retrieve his book bag from their coat closet, stringing their school iD around neck, and slipping on socks and shoes before leaving through the door as quietly as he could.

Shakily, he breathed out the raw and exposed feeling his emotions had been reduced to, from just a simple hug nonetheless. Thier affection, was almost dangerous, where it should been inviting. Too much of a slip up, and he would have a huge mess bloodying his hands…

Michelangelo checked his pocket for the phone he had snatched off its charger before leaving, sighing when he found it was safely tucked in its original place. He honestly couldn't handle walking back into house, with hidden traps just waiting to ensnare him, like his eldest brother's had just done.

The thought had occurred to him though, that he had not eaten since the previous day, but that could fixed with a quick stop by a convenient store.

His walk had ended up being a rather peaceful one, silent, undisturbed, deathly so almost if hadn't been for the occasional chirp of early rising birds. The sky was a dark blue-orange hue still, decorated with the occasional cloud drifting by. Street lamps had still been left on and the whole scenery was just a very pleasant ordeal.

He was slightly ashamed, when the sudden vibration of his phone against his thigh solicited a small jump. His pace paused, and he tugged out the device, near instantly smiling when he saw the message.

'_Love you baby bro._'

It was Leo's number. Mikey was quick to respond back.

'_Love you 2_.' A countless number of dumb emoticons followed the text, something that would hopefully put his seemingly troubled relative to rest.

The rest of the way to the store was slightly more blissful…

Too bad it wouldn't stay that way for long.


	2. Not Myself

"I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?"

* * *

><p>It's now 10:31, and Mikey knows this because he's checked his phone each second since arriving to class, already wondering when the day is going to end.<p>

A clear sign that today was going to suck balls.

He kind of wished he had just stayed at the store, and chatted with the sweet elderly woman who always went off on a tangent about her cats whenever he arrived. She had seemed rather joyous to see him so early in the day, given the only time he visited was around noon, when he traveled off campus to retrieve snacks.

Speaking of, the food he had only half finished still sat in his bag while he stared emptily out the open window closest to his desk. Countless engravings had be etched into the bland coloured tops of any seat that had the honor of with holding the magnificently bored Michelangelo.

His chin lazed in the palm of his left hand, eye's blankly staring at the empty white notebook paper before him, name and date lingering in the upper right corner.

What class, you might ask, does he happen to have that could possibly make him hate his very existence.

Literature, of course.

Now, contrary to what you might be thinking, he honestly does love learning, especially the arts of language, simply because it's a rather free forming art that requires little rules. But when the teacher himself insists on singling you out each and every morning, to add on to the students who seem to have a personal vendetta against his enjoyment, well…

Shit just sucks. Speaking of which…

"Psst!" Great. An hour in.

"Hey, Blondie!" The whisper, despite coming from the far back of the class, clearly had the entire rooms attention but Michelangelo's. And the rather 'preoccupied' teacher, of course. Even he wouldn't do anything about what was going to happen.

Slowly- and when I say slow, I mean painstakingly so- he swerved his head around to stare at his assailant blankly, frowning almost.

"...What?"

A rather butch kid, well known yet not the slightest bit attractive, held a smug smirk at the no doubt stellar question he was about to ask.

Josh. Who else could it be, but the very same disgusting pissant that insisted his morning cup of coffee come with an extra serving of douche bag?

He leaned forward on his elbows, a clear mock of intending to ask a serious question.

"So, now, tell me if I'm wrong here, but I might have heard you would, uh…" An obscene jester was made with his hand and mouth, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek. "Suck for a buck." A bill was pulled from his jacket pocket, and pulled at either end between his hands, thick and dark eyebrows waggling suggestively toward Mikey.

The class erupted in a muted roar of snickering and muffled laughter, if not at the joke, then the reddening of his cheeks in embarrassment.

What came out of Michelangelo's mouth next, was something of a knee-jerk reaction.

"I wasn't aware you had anything down there."

The peanut gallery quickly changed from laughter to a chorus of 'Oh's' and 'Got 'em's'. Of course the teacher would choose to pay attention now. The spectacled man glanced up from the stack of papers he had currently been working on, hushing the amused crowd with a few stern words.

Then Josh opened his filthy mouth once more. "My bad Mr.C, but uh, Michelangelo was soliciting me for sexual activities."

…

Silence ensued.

And then a near skull cracking thunk came from said persons desk, Mikey's forehead colliding with the binder purposefully hard, eyes squeezed shut to prevent from seeing the countless looks turned towards him.

"Mich-" Was all the instructor could get out before being interrupted.

"Don't." Came Michelangelo's voice above his, rising up from his seat, plastic binder forcefully shoved into his backpack before it was slung over one of his shoulders, walking to the front of the class, and then towards the door.

Nothing was said when he walked right out, slamming it behind him.

* * *

><p>It's honestly quite a shame, when Mikey realizes he's never just walked around New York before. He's never had time to take in the near constant moving of the city people, the plethora of sights and smells, sounds.<p>

The city itself breathed and bled humanity. It thrived upon the effort put into reshaping ideas as soon as they were finalized, craving one goal, a most common in fact.

Perfection.

It was purely instinct to strive for perfect, to want and feel like things were right in their entirety. And you know, things just might be that way, if there was only one type of dream.

But looking himself, watching the different faces and expressions of people passing by, cars whirring along wet asphalt, harsh neon lights blinding anything within his peripheral… It's clear there's never going to be a peaceful middle ground.

Not with how starkly different everyone is.

So on, he continued walking, not quite sure where he was heading, or what he might find, because his ignorance of what the present held was near blissful.

Anything could happen.

That's the way he want's it to stay.

* * *

><p>A park. Evergreen trees, plump waddling duck mothers with yellow babies following, dogs attached to leashes.<p>

It all harmonized with the dimming of the day's sun, hours ticking by like steady breathing, quick and instinctively.

Michelangelo has spent the majority of his day here. How that could have happened, was a question he was willing to leave the gods answering.

Not that he believed in any. That's another matter, however.

His cross legged stance on a bench facing the public garden's body of water had long since grown numb. Comfortably so, at least. He watched ants crawl across the barren dirt that might seem like miles, for such a tiny creature. The ripple of the mucked water fascinated him in an unearthly way, and the chilled wind that was brought with the high moon sent hair raising upon his arms and legs.

The deep green back pack he had adorned with countless buttons of phrases and characters alike lay propped up against his thigh, papers within having been shifted about. He had managed to find the motivation to finish any assignments he may have been avoiding, for one dumb reason or another. That might have been what drew him away from the surrounding world for a good majority of the day.

Slowly, he unwound his legs, stretching them out over the cool metal of the seat, wincing when his bare calves brushed it. Dazing off might not have been the best idea, while dressed in khaki shorts. At least the sleeves of his shirt were longer, pulled over his hands to preserve what warmth they had.

Days had long since grown shorter, when nights began getting colder, and decorative fairy lights adorned trees.

Said lights were now glowing about, casting a yellow hue through the dusty brown branches, and blurring into a mass in his unfocused eyes.

The thought suddenly occurred of what time it was. He fished the phone from his lower short pockets, holding the power button with his index to turn it back on.

A sudden barrage of sounds emitted from it.

**37** text messages. **Ten** missed calls, one from either brother.

The last, being from his Father.

_That_ can't be good.

He didn't bother going through any of his messages, knowing they all said something of the same message, deleting them quickly before slinging his bag over his back. Standing, he stretched his arms out, turning his neck side to side.

It had already gotten to 8:30.

The walk back the way he came had brought him to a sudden realization that he was going to face at least twice the punishment he would have gotten, should he had returned home at a normal hour.

At least he had found a new place to escape too.

Brooklyn Bridge Park...

* * *

><p>His shoes hitting the cement of the sidewalk couldn't have been any more of a wake up call to his impending doom than if someone were to slap him on the mouth. But willing his legs to walk any slower now, would just be a death sentence…<p>

The familiar door of his abode stared him down like the eyes of a mad prowling serpent, ready to consume him with slow digestion should his hand inch any closer to the knob. Options of an avoiding route had already been drawn through with a big red metaphorical line.

Mikey had already thought over sleeping outside, crossing that out of the question quicker than lightning could have struck. That left his tolerant companions.

Yet April's house was just too risky with her father being such a stickler, and Casey's?

Hah, how about never. Even if his little sister was an absolute doll who would be delighted to see him. She would no doubt keep him up all night with tea parties and make overs.

Not that he minded that at all. It was Casey himself, that intimidated him.

Why didn't Mikey have any friends that weren't only interested in knowing his brothers? Not to mention, at least somewhat equal in age?

The door suddenly swung open however, not permitting the pondering of the thought any longer, because just missing getting decked in the head was not a task the slow could perform.

He dodged back, mildly surprised to find a set of deeper blues starring back with equal shock.

Leonardo and him must have some sort of strange paranormal link because they always seem to bump into each other at the worst moments. Some might call that fate.

But right now, he didn't exactly seem too happy to see him. Even if the majority of worried texts were from him.

Watching the shock quickly fade into that of oddly mixed relief and anger was quite the show that only prompted a nervous upturn of Mikey's lips.

"Uh… Hey, Leo…" The 'Hey' was drawled out to a quiet, unsure tone, that could have resembled a squeak, but nevertheless it didn't lessen the look of unhappiness upon the elders face.

"Get in the house." Leonardo's order was quick and bland, no hesitance in letting it be known that Mikey wasn't getting off easy with him.

His command was obeyed, as soon as he switched places with the youngest, hauling a heavy trash bag in one hand, and a few smaller ones in the other. The air within the house was much warmer than it could have ever been outside that night, already causing a pleasant flush in Michelangelo's cheeks. Book bag tossed into their closet, he unlaced his shoes at the bottom of the stairs, not bothering to watch his brother throw the bags angrily into the large garbage can, and waltz right into the house, door closing behind him.

"Mikey's here!" Echoed his yell through the house, completely ignoring the blonde sitting before him, not even moving his eyes in that direction before stomping off to the kitchen.

Multiple doors could be heard opening and closing, Michelangelo's head tilting backwards to watch the two others arrive at the top. If he were any more upside down, their frowns could almost be smiles.

_Fat chance that would be the case._

He stood up before they began heading down simultaneously, knowing it was best to stay where he was before having their typical kitchen meetings after shit goes down.

They would want to talk to him before Splinter had his head, at least.

Donnie was the first to open his mouth however, Raphael's brow twitching in irritance.

"Where the **hell** were you?!" He questioned in a hushed voice, grabbing the youngers hand, only to pull away. "And why are you so freaking cold?! Jesus, were you outside?"

_Duh_. Of course he was. He's positive they could smell it in the air around him, so why the question came up, was left to Donatello's mother-hen instinct that never failed when it came to any of his siblings.

"No where important D, stop worrying so much…" Mikey attempted, huffing slightly. It really wasn't that big of a deal….

"Obviously, since you couldn't bother to answer your fucking phone!" The older of the two snapped, narrowing his eyes at him. " Where do you get off just, skipping school, and then not answering a single call? Midwood called Dad again, and he's seriously pissed off. Leo just got bitched out for not keeping an eye on you."

Michelangelo watched the soft exchange of a swat from Donatello, muttering something about Raph's language, but his eyes were blank at the spectacle, the blondes mind elsewhere.

That explains it. Of course Leo wouldn't be that angry from Michelangelo just leaving. He probably didn't even notice until the three of them had gotten home, usually at separate times.

Just the thought made his stomach twist, however. In sorrow, perhaps?

Or maybe, slight anguish.

Is it really that easy, to just forget Michelangelo exists?

_Probably._

A synchronized jump filtered through them Splinters sudden tone, and Mikey's siblings shared a glance of worry. This wasn't going to be pretty.

There wasn't time left to give any thought to the situation though, because their father was apparently waiting in the kitchen with Leonardo no doubt, and he sounded none too pleased…

_Then again, Why would he be?_

They all ended up shuffling to the kitchen in a slow march, no more worried looks shared between them once they could all be directly seen. Around their island they stood, Michelangelo of course ending up the closest to his master.

He didn't dare look.

Even so, Michelangelo could practically feel the anger seeping off him in bitter waves, his gaze pointedly directed at the youngest.

"You know, what this is about, son."

He probably should have been more afraid, much more, even shaking at the dark pitch that threatened to tear his inner most concentration to not whimper.

"Yes, Father." Mikey dryly replied, surprisingly audible.

"Where were you." There was no upward tilt at the end of his question to even hint that Splinter meant it to be optional. No dodging this one.

"At a park, father." And at this Michelangelo swallowed thickly, all the days earlier tension slipping back into the muscles of his back and shoulders. His hands hung limply at his hips, twitching with the folded him of his shirt anxiously. This intimidation wasn't exactly necessary, but with his father, there was no room for error, unless it was allowed.

Which was hardly, of course.

"Interesting." It really wasn't. They all knew that. "Do explain, why you happened to think it was alright, to simply, leave your campus in the middle of a class? Or, perhaps why you couldn't bother to tell one of your brothers where you might be going?"

"... I-I don't know…" Michelangelo's stutter couldn't have been any more of an unnecessary show of fear. His heart practically palpated at how intense it was beating, and might as well have just sunk into his stomach, and dissolved in the acid.

"Then, you do not have a valid reason, for disappearing as well?"

Oh, he _did_. Doesn't mean he was going to tell his father he couldn't handle a little teasing. He didn't need them thinking any lower of him than they already did. That's all he needed for his already delicate self conscious.

His hands stopped moving, clenching into fists while he held his tongue. A decision had to be made. Too bad it couldn't have been the **right** one. "No Father. None."

The next few moments were completely silent, and he took this moment to look up at his brothers for any semblance of divine intervention.

None. The oldest stood by each other, Raphael's glare having flitted away to a worried glance, yet Leo's face had yet to change.

Donatello seemed reluctant to look at anywhere other than the counter of the island.

…

And before Michelangelo knew it, his head swung forcefully to his right, from the force of his fathers slap.

His cheek went numb in pinpricks.

_Then, it burned so hot, **it itched.**_

He didn't exactly register what had just happened in his mind, until he spotted the look of shock on his siblings face's, just from the edge of his vision, before hot tears slid down his chilled skin. It didn't make sense, as to why he was crying. He wasn't upset in the slightest. Even his lower lip had yet to tremble, as it so often did in his fit of emotions that provoked the waterworks.

His fear had simply left with any semblance of tension. A tactic they had been taught to use only to resolve the prying of information about their family, and what secrets they've long since buried.

Michelangelo didn't exactly feel anything, at that current moment, if that wasn't clear by his mannerisms. His face held no sign of discomfort, he looked relaxed, a late viewer could say. The glossy baby blues, might even seem a bit, dead, for lack of a better word other than 'Empty'.

He hadn't realized he was staring his father in the eye, until his mouth parted, and moved on its own accord.

"And what did that solve?"

Leonardo lunged forward the minute he watched his fathers hand swing a second time, but it was all too late, and his efforts to lessen the punishment proved futile. What caused the sudden change of heart would remain unknown.

Michelangelo was knocked against the sink on his left from Splinters heavy hand bearing down in a loud swat across the same spot, and there would no doubt be a bruise forming there in the early morrow. He couldn't care less.

Strange, right?

He should know better, not to speak against his father.

The second time around, Michelangelo felt a jolting epiphany towards his previous actions, and how rare it was, he angered his Master in such away. He stared wide eyed into the sink for a prolonged interlude, gripping the reflective surface with white knuckles and strained fingertips. Tear drops seemed to slow in their gravitational journey to the inside of the sink, and Mikey almost wished his sickness had too. It came in forceful heaves of everything he had eaten prior to that moment, which thankfully wasn't much. But in turn, it left a series of dry heaves that only left his lungs sore and tired.

Everything came rushing into him like a swift hit to the gut, and only the sounds of his puking lilted in the surrounding space where silence could no longer fill. His family stood, and watched with horrified confusion of what to possibly do, in a situation like such. No one moved an inch.

Splinter, now had a lingering guilt and shameful air, his right palm a hot red. Losing control of himself was something that was still an unfamiliar feeling to the others. They didn't know when he would snap, or what he could possibly do when he did.

How does one manage to be fatherly after striking their youngest child?

He reached for the youngest, but Michelangelo only clambered back away from him, the small of his back hitting the counter top behind. It could have been painful, were it any more forceful... He stood there, narrowed pupils darting frantically around at their faces, before he turned and left towards the stairs, soundlessly moving to their bathroom…

* * *

><p>The burning of acid coating his inner throat, was enough of a distraction to keep his mind of the throbbing in the side of his face, already swelling with speckles of red lingering about the freckles.<p>

Blood vessels, likely, that had burst from the forced trauma.

It felt like they had also done so within his cranium, if the slight dizziness was anything to go by. He's not sure how long he had stared at the mirror before twisting on the cool water with a shaking hand, and cupping both beneath the stream in the cream coloured sink.

Hot and sticky tears were replaced with refreshing cold splashes, but the relief ended too soon when his thumb grazed too close to his flesh, and pressed right into the struck cheek.

A whining grunt strangled past his lips and the threat of crying again threatened to constrict his lungs in a sob. Sheer will power allowed him to swallow it down with the dull nails digging into the meat of his inner hands. Least say, it didn't hurt anywhere close enough, to distract him from the other pain.

There was nothing cold or soothing to help with the pain. Only large pills he felt he could never swallow since failed attempts led to retching and gagging.

_But the water helped._

_ His entire body was shaking before he had realized that he stepped into the tub, and pushed on the faucet, fully clothed. Water as cold as hail poured down onto his scalp and Michelangelo almost jerked out of the way at the shock._

_Then he felt it touch the sides of his face._

_And everything was blissful._

_The cold water rinsed over the cotton of his clothing and soon it became heavy with the weight of the moisture. His body instinctively sunk down into the dip of porcelain, resting in the pooling water that rose and engulfed his being in a cool trap like thick honey. The stopper had been left snug in the drain for some unknown reason, but it didn't seem to bother him._

_In fact, as he rested his back against the slight arch of the tub, nothing seemed to bother him once his eyelids grew heavy, and his arms turned to weights folded over his chest._

It hadn't occurred to him, that he might have fallen asleep, until the doorknob was jerked open, and Raphael was jerking him out of the water that had seemingly flooded onto the floor, nearly pouring towards the door.

Michelangelo forgot to lock the door again. But he had only been in there a span of ten minutes, thankfully.

Still, He sputtered out a cough and grabbed onto his older brother for support from his weakened legs. Cold water was just as bad to a body as a live flame was.

The flowing water was quickly shut off with a free hand, and it wasn't until his feet touched the wet flooring before he felt the heat from his brothers bare chest, who might of been in the middle of his nightly routine before he discovered the flooding of their shared restroom. Water sloshed about when he stepped out, but it really felt no different out of the tub than in it. His lower lip's discolouration almost matched that of the tips of his fingers, and if that wasn't worrying, then what would be was an impossible question.

Everything floated back to him like a doped state of peace that a druggie might feel. Earlier comments rattled a raspy chuckle from the blonde, feeling himself pulled into the lap of the older, who was swift, yet gentle, in tugging Michelangelo's sodden shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor with a wet squelch while seated on the closed lid of their toilet.

"And D' thought I was cold earlier…" He muttered out, feeling the muscles wrapping around his bare waist flex at the sound of his voice.

"Shut up Mike."

Raph didn't seem in the mood to joke, but his tone wasn't harsh in the slightest. Mikey wasn't exactly fit for arguing against him.

Tanned arms snaked around the red head's neck, just in an effort to keep them closer, to keep him warmer than what he was feeling at the moment.

How **stupid** of him. Not the first stupid thing he's done, if today's events were given any thought to, but definitely the most draining.

They stayed there for a long moment, Mikey resting his good cheek in the crook of his brothers neck and shoulder, nearly falling asleep again before feeling his dripping hair pushed back from his forehead.

Warm lips touched his temple, soon pressing to his eyelid after a rough hand managed to softly tilt his head away from Raphael's upper shoulder. His warmth was like an intoxicating fire that sent blood rushing through his abused heart and aching veins.

"I'm sorry." Were the words muttered into the tender skin below his eye. A frigid hand lie on either side of Raph's upper bicep, and Mikey pulled away with a confused look.

"Don't. I should have kept my big mouth shut."

The look in the elders green eyes was enough to make Mike turn his head away, blinking tiredly. A thumb on his chin pulled it back, however.

"Hey… He went overboard, and even Leo knows that."

Michelangelo didn't respond that time.

** Did Father?**

Or was it _really deserved?_

A clearing of someones throat startled both from their thoughts and their heads swiveled towards the doorway.

Donatello stood, looking thoroughly confused at the mess around them, then at Michelangelo himself.

"W-...What?" His question hung in the air unfinished, but fully known. There was an obvious conflicting in his resistance to immediately rush over to their baby sibling.

His inquiry would be answered later though, because Raphael was already barking orders. Michelangelo could see right through his weak facade. He was flustered.

That's adorable.

"Hand me a towel, would you? And go get the mop downstairs, but keep it down."

The request was met with a nod and urgency, soon said towel wrapped around Mikey's shoulders, and both were standing after he assured him that he could walk now, with more confidence in his legs than he had earlier.

They carefully stepped out of the bathroom, and Michelangelo was sent to his room to change into dry clothing while his two older brothers cleaned up the water.

The soft instruction of not to tell Leonardo or their Father anything didn't get past the youngest so easily, even with the door closed.

His slow, sluggish movements made the removing of the rest of his clothing much more difficult than it could have been if that whole fiasco hadn't just happened, but there was a feeling he would still be just as tired.

Night clothes slipped on easier after droplets of moisture were patted off with the soft towel that was eventually put to use atop his head, then thrown into a random pile of assorted clothing upon his carpeted floor.

But before the crashing into his own bed was granted, Raphael slipped into his room with a few gentle knocks, closing the door behind himself. His own shorts had changed, and he looked reasonably calmer than what Mikey might have first seen when he was yanked from the tub. Still no shirt though.

Michelangelo snorted.

"You're such a nudist."

A roll of the others eyes was expected. But no retort this time. Instead, he handed the small measured cup of syrup towards the youngest, who stared at it with a disgusted look. It was quickly downed, menthol minting a strange sensation down his esophagus. That seemed to please Raphael, at least.

He was disturbingly quiet when he slipped under Michelangelo's covers as well, and Michelangelo near immediately curled up against his broad form.

It was probably just to keep an eye on him.

"Love you Mike."

Or whatever, you know.

"Love you too Raph."

Either way, Michelangelo didn't seem to care at the moment.

Sleep, was near instant when Raphael's hands gently stroked his hair in a lulling fashion.

* * *

><p>Well here it is Four HOURS LATE BECAUSE WOW I WAS UPSET.<p>

My lovely sweetheart of a friend was so tearful that she couldn't go trick or treating with me for her FIRST TIME EVER IN SIXTEEN YEARS OF LIVING.

Whatever. If you see this darling, I hope you do enjoy it!

And thank you all for reading! Next chapter in two weeks! Or less!


	3. JUST AN UPDATE FOR ASKS NOT A CHAPTER

Okay, so I know you lovely babes are eagerly awaiting an update, and I honestly didn't meant to take so long! I've just been going through some really tough shit, but to make it up I created a blog for you guys to come pop some ideas by me for a collection of one shots!

I'll be taking requests as long as you guys keep sending them my way! I'll do any pairing, any genre, and any level of maturity! ( Like nsfw, fluff, all that shit)

Now this is not only to appease you guys, but more so just to get my creativity floating! I'll be working editing the rest of my third chapter while doing this, so it's not all a bust!

.com

You don't have to have a tumblr to send me an ask so please send away!


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